


Clownstache

by daisyisawriter91



Series: James Shefford [5]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Torture, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyisawriter91/pseuds/daisyisawriter91
Summary: A series of one shots centering around Wilford Warfstache and Wiggles the Clown.





	1. Touch

Wiggles was poison. A walking bad luck charm, the human embodiment of snake eyes. People had a habit of dying around him. Even when he didn’t stab them. Even when he wanted them to stick around.  
And then there was Wilford. Wilford was just like him in many ways, but his opposite in so many others. It was like he walked around in a protective bubble, unable to get hurt by anything Wiggles did.  
Every time a bullet meant for Wiggles went to Wilford, he dodged it like it was nothing. Every time they got into a dangerous situation, Wilford would emerge unscathed, even when Wiggles had six broken ribs and a hangover.  
Wilford seemed to be immune to the aura Wiggles emitted. But Wiggles wasn’t taking any chances, even though he desperately wanted to. Not one finger on Wilford, anywhere. Not even a tap to get his attention. His bad luck could be infectious, for all he knew.  
What made it worse was that Wilford seemed to _want_ to touch him. Wilford was touchy, Wiggles had observed it in everyone else. And while he respected the boundaries Wiggles set, Wiggles could see him reach out and stop himself. It hurt, in ways Wiggles couldn’t quite define. Why did not touching Wilford hurt so bad?  
Wiggles sat far apart from Wilford on the couch they shared, listening to Wilford talk about something to do with pigeons. The urge to touch him was particularly strong that day. The hand Wilford was using to gesture with was so easily within Wiggles’s grasp.  
There was no audience at the moment, not even a crew. They often did this, stayed an hour after the show, just talking because they were too comfortable to move.  
“Wiggles? Wiggles, are you alright?” Wilford called. Wiggles jumped, having zoned out a bit. “You seemed lost. Where’d you go, my friend?” Wilford had a patient smile on his face.  
“What’s it to you?” Wiggles replied, harshly. Wilford’s face looked not unlike a kicked puppy, and Wiggles winced. “Sorry. Just don’t really wanna talk about it.”  
“That’s fine, I understand.” Wilford said, studying him. After a long moment, he shifted a bit closer on the couch. Wiggles noticed, and shifted back. “Wiggles. I promise I won’t force you on anything. But please tell me. Why don’t you like touch? Did someone hurt you?”  
Wiggles sighed, rubbing his head. This conversation was inevitable, he knew. He just didn’t want to have it at all.  
“No. Well, technically, yes, but that’s not why. I’ve been hurt a lot, that ain’t the issue.” Wiggles groaned. This was not sounding how he wanted it to. “I just…I’m bad news, Wilf. I don’t wanna spread that to you.”  
“Do you think bad luck is contagious?” Wilford asked.  
“I dunno. All I know is everybody I’ve ever loved has left me or ended up dead.” Wiggles rushed out, tripping over his words, barely even realizing what he said.  
“I appreciate the worry, sugar, but I can take care of myself-did you say love?” Wilford interrupted himself.  
“Fuck.” Wiggles summed up everything happening inside his head.  
He loved Wilford. And he let it slip while spilling his guts. Wilford called him sugar, which was new. Wiggles needed to leave.  
Wiggles stood up and left the room, ignoring Wilford calling after him. He couldn’t cope with it as he was. He needed a goddamn drink.

Wilford found Wiggles at a bar near the studio, half an hour later. If he was guessing, Wiggles was on his second whiskey. At least he was pacing himself a bit.  
Wiggles was slumped over on the bar, wallowing in misery as he often did. Wilford sat in the stool beside him, Wiggles glancing up at him. He groaned, burying his head under his arms.  
“I’m a fucking idiot.” Wiggles moaned.  
“Hey, now, don’t say that. You’re no idiot.” Wilford said. “You’re a human. You have feelings. Best to admit you do now.”  
“I got attached to you. Why’d I do that? Shoulda let you be. I mean, Wilford, goddamn, I love ya. Which is news to me, frankly. But…I don’t wanna fuck up your life. And I will.” Wiggles said.  
“I think I’ll be the judge of my own life, thank you very much.” Wilford paused, assessing. “How drunk are you?”  
“Probably not enough for the state of my life.” Wiggles answered.  
Slowly, Wilford took his hand. Wiggles froze, his body stiffening, staring bug-eyed at their locked fingers. Wilford looked around.  
“Nothing bad is happening.” Wilford commented.  
“It will.” But Wiggles made no move to untangle their hands.  
“I can take care of myself, darling.” Wilford replied. “I’m a big boy, Wiggles. Whatever comes my way, I can handle it.”  
Wiggles raised his head, looking Wilford directly in the eyes. “You’re seriously willing to do that? Put yourself at risk for me?”  
“Without hesitation.” Wilford said. “C’mon. This is no place for you, not like this.” Wilford pulled Wiggles out of the chair, slapping the first bill he could find onto the bar.  
The cool night air greeted Wilford as he lead Wiggles outside. Wiggles audibly sighed from behind him, stopping Wilford just outside the door.  
“You’re really sure about this?” Wiggles asked.  
“Yes. I am.” Wilford answered, turning around to look him in the eyes.  
“Well, fuck it.” Wiggles grabbed Wilford’s suspenders and pulled him into a kiss.  
Wilford could go on for page after page, for hours and hours, about what that kiss felt like. The short version was: it was more than he’d ever dreamt of.


	2. What I've Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Wilford goes to tell Dark of his new relationship, Dark, understandably, has opinions on the matter.

Wilford hadn’t been surprised when Dark kicked him out after their impromptu meeting. He’d been more surprised when all he had were minor bruisings.  
Wilford picked himself up and dusted off his shirt, popping his jaw. “Nice talk!” Wilford called to the closed doors. Dark’s aura pushed past the doors, leading Wilford to take off in a run. Truthfully, he wanted an excuse to leave from the beginning. He barely wanted to have that meeting in the first place. But he knew he had to.  
Wilford ran until he stumbled upon Wiggles’s room. Wiggles was sitting on his bed, thumbing through what looked to be an old journal.  
He looked up immediately when Wilford stopped in his doorway, smiling, nervously. He threw the journal to his bed and and stood up, fiddling with his suspenders. He had the smile on his face that said he was nervous, if nothing else would give it away.  
“H-Hey, Wilf! How’s it going, how’s tricks, how’s, uh…” Wiggles rambled. Wilford laughed, softly, and grabbed Wiggles’s suspenders to stop him from fidgeting.  
“Why so nervous, sweetheart?” Wilford asked, reaching up to cup his face.  
“Don’t wanna fuck up, ya know? Best thing that’s ever happened to me and all…” Wiggles answered, nervously.  
“Oh, you hush, now. You’re not gonna fuck this up, there’s no way you could. Even if you killed me, I think I’d die with a smile.” Wilford replied. Wiggles looked horrified.  
“No! I would never do that, I want you around for a long time, long, long time!” Wiggles rushed out.  
“That’s even better, then.” Wilford said. He brought Wiggles’s face down to his and kissed him, softly. It seemed to feel better and better every time they kissed.  
Wiggles pulled away, eyes still closed. Wilford opened his, taking in the details of his face. Wilford could look at him all day.  
Unfortunately, Wiggles moved his hand to one of Wilford’s fresh new bruises. On instinct, he flinched away, barely restraining a hiss. Wiggles jumped away instantly, spell broken.  
“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, Wilf, did I hurt you? Honestly, I don’t even know how!” Wiggles panicked.  
“No, no, don’t fret, love! It’s not your fault. I had a bit of a, shall we say, _chat_ with Dark. It didn’t go well.” Wilford answered.  
“What were you even talking about with that guy?” Wiggles asked, confusedly. Wilford sighed.  
“Some days, it’s hard for you to remember. But you have a history with him. I don’t need his permission to be with you, but it felt right to tell him.”  
“Wait, a history, what type of history?” Wiggles asked, confusion becoming more and more apparent on his face.  
“The romantic variety, I’m sad to say.” Wilford answered. This wasn’t the first time he’d said this to Wiggles, and wouldn’t likely be the last. Wiggles always seemed to remember Wilford, the talk show, and where he lived, but other things depended on the day. Some days, he exclusively went by James. Others, he had no idea who Dark was.  
“Oh. You know I don’t feel that way anymore, right? I wanna be with you.” Wiggles insisted.  
“I know, darling, I know. Who you were and who you are, they’re not the same. It’s all in the past, now. But I felt the need to tell him so he wouldn’t unexpectedly murder me. Possibly when I have you bent over a table.” Wilford teased, to lighten the mood.  
Wiggles turned bright red, even visible under the heavy makeup.  
“You gotta warn a guy before you say shit like that!” Wiggles stammered. Wilford laughed, but quickly stopped when he saw Wiggles’s expression change. “And you got that a lil turned around, buddy.” Wiggles raised an eyebrow.  
Wilford closed the door.

The next morning, Wilford dressed himself in the same clothes he’d previously worn, tie loose around his neck.  
A smile was frozen on his face, even slightly present as he whistled a song. Waking up beside his love always put him in a good mood, especially after a positively _wonderful_ night. His makeup had smeared, allowing Wilford to catch a glimpse at the face beneath it.  
When Wilford had kissed his jaw, he smiled in his sleep and nestled closer. Wilford could have died at peace, then and there. By God, he was far gone.  
Wilford stepped back into his room to find it undisturbed. Save for a thick envelope on his bed addressed to him in scrawling script.  
Curiously, Wilford picked up the envelope and carefully undid the wax seal. The letter inside was hefty, made of sturdy paper.  
Wilford sat on his bed, beginning to read.  
 _Wilford,  
I can no longer call James mine, just as I am no longer his. This I have accepted as fact. However, I still care a great deal for him, and want to know he will be well taken care of.  
James is his own person, this I understand. But what you must know is that being with James is not an ordinary relationship. For more than just his extraordinary existence.  
He is the only James Shefford in all versions of the universe. There are multiples of you and I, plenty of them. But James is the only James. This makes him a magnet of bad luck. Even before he became Wiggles, he had the worst luck, and I think you know that, too.  
In this letter, I will list everything I’ve done to protect him from his abysmal luck. And you must ask yourself, are you willing to do the same, or worse?  
If you waver even the slightest bit, you could lose him forever. Be sure he is the one you want.  
\- D._  
Wilford read the note three times over, disbelief settling heavily in his stomach. This could not be happening. Dark wrote him an account of every vile thing he’d done to preserve the air in Wiggles’s lungs.  
Morbid curiosity getting the better of him, Wilford opened the letter and began to read.  
How long he sat there, picturing everything Dark had done, he didn’t know. He knew that Dark had done countless horrible things, but reading what could have been a confession was something he never anticipated. Had Dark spent all night compiling this list?  
By the time he set down the letter, the sun was at its peak. Wilford sat forward on his knees, considering.  
No wonder he’d been kicked out so rudely. The amount of love Dark held for Wiggles, or James, more accurately…It was astonishing. Especially considering Wilford had only recently found out he _could_ love.  
As Wilford closed the letter, he knew there was only one option. He stood up and strode, determinedly, to Dark’s office. He barged in without knocking, forcing Dark to look up with a frown.  
“Gladly.” Wilford said. Dark’s frown softened.  
“Good.” He replied, curtly.  
Wilford nodded, harshly, and left the room. He had to go find Wiggles. He was addicted to him, what could he say?  
He would gladly do anything on Dark’s list, worse, even. As long as it meant waking up beside the one he loved every morning.


	3. Wiggles Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilford gets hurt, and Wiggles can't say he likes that. (Warning for psychotic behavior, torture, violence, and the like)

Wiggles knew how to hold a grudge. It was both his greatest weakness and his greatest strength. He was almost certain it could be the stuff of legends, his grudge holding skills.  
And for the first time in a while, he had a reason to make good on the grudge. Most of the time, it was petty nonsense he had no reason to act on. But not this time.  
Wilford was hard to hit, but the occasional blow slipped through. And this one was bad. The doc put him on two weeks in bed, and for a man as fidgety as Wilford, that was bound to be horrible.  
Wiggles had been with him when he got hurt. Wilford insisted that he didn’t blame himself for what happened. And Wiggles didn’t. He blamed the bastard that shot him.  
The house was good for keeping secrets. It kept Wiggles’s secrets well enough, especially when he asked it nicely. It preferred a soft tone, he’d found. A gentle whisper, kind words, being called “beautiful”. Almost as though it were alive.  
It would keep any secrets if he asked. And it kept this newest one beautifully.  
Wiggles ran his hand over the panel of the wall and the door clicked open. He smiled. “Thanks, doll.” He murmured, sliding inside the small gap between the wall and the door.  
In the room was a man who’d made a very big mistake, tied to a chair of Wiggles’s choosing.  
He was awake, and panicking, audibly, despite being gagged.  
“Wondering when you’d be awake.” Wiggles said, pulling out an incredibly sharp knife.  
The man struggled against his gag.  
“Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. Where the fuck am I, who’s this fucking clown? Well, I’m glad you asked.” Wiggles said. In one rapid motion, the knife was at the man’s throat, and Wiggles was nearly touching his nose. “This fucking clown is Wiggles. Remember that, if you get outta here. _If._ Still not sure about that one.”  
Wiggles considered, standing back to his full height, lightly tapping the flat side of the knife to his lips.  
“Alright, let’s do it this way. The guy you shot, about yea high, pink mustache?” Wiggles gestured to his shoulder. “He’s in critical condition. He’s got a 50/50 shot of making it out alive. If he lives, I let you go, so you can spread the word not to fuck with a clown. If he dies, your corpse does the talking for you. Capische?”  
The man nodded, frantically.  
“Good. Now that we’re on the same page…let’s have a lil bit of fun with my dear friend stabby, here.” Wiggles flipped the knife in midair, catching it and embedding it in the wood just beside the man’s neck. “Whaddya say?”

Wiggles didn’t care about the blood anywhere else on him. But he had to get it off his hands. He wouldn’t touch Wilford with bloodied hands, not unless the both of them had done damage together. An exception to every rule.  
There was a knock at the bathroom door. The last of the blood had just rinsed down the sink, just in time.  
“Yeah, who the fuck is it?” Wiggles called, drying off his hands from the cool water. The door opened, showing the Doc. Edward? Wiggles didn’t know his name, and didn’t really care.  
“Wilford is awake. It’s beyond me how, but he’s awake, relatively stable, and he’s asking for you.” the Doc explained. Wiggles was already on the way out at the words ‘Wilford is awake’.  
Wiggles dashed up to his room, not even bothering to knock on the door. Wilford had asked for him, he didn’t need formalities.  
Sure enough, Wilford was awake, reclined in bed. He smiled at Wiggles’s entrance. “Ah, there you are, darling!” Wilford rejoiced, starting to sit up further, but winced.  
“Hey, hey, hey, easy now!” Wiggles scolded, pushing Wilford’s shoulders down. “You just got shot, try to calm the fuck down. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.” Wiggles settled onto the bed and gently brushed Wilford’s hair with his fingers.  
“I know, I know, but forgive me for being eager to see you. I was worried about you, you know! I thought you maybe got hurt in the scuffle.” Wilford said.  
“For once, I didn’t. It was all you, babe.” Wiggles replied. Wilford surveyed him, raising a brow.  
“Why are you covered in blood?” He asked.  
“Tell ya later, it ain’t important right now.”  
“If you say so.” Wilford dropped it, in favor of a cheesy smile. “How worried were you? Be honest, now.” Wilford’s tone was teasing, but Wiggles wasn’t in the mood for teasing. Not about this.  
“I felt like I was goin’ nuts. I was breathing funny, and I just wanted it to stop. I wanted you to be okay so bad I couldn’t think. Dammit, Wil, you got me all goofy.” Wiggles rambled.  
Wilford’s smile softened. He reached up and touched Wiggles’s cheek.  
“You’re so silly and so wonderful.” Wilford sighed, dreamily. “No need to be worried, anymore.”  
“I’m always gonna be worried, Wilf.” Wiggles argued.  
“I know, it’s what I love about you.”  
“Hopefully not the only thing.”  
“Far from it.” Wilford answered. “Convalesce with me, it’ll be fun!”  
“I will. I just gotta, shall we say…release a butterfly.” Wiggles said. “Be back before ya know it.”  
Wiggles turned around, making his way to his secret room. The man was still there, tied up, much bloodier due to Wiggles’s own hand.  
“Your lucky day, fucker. He lived. Tell your lil inner circle or whatever the fuck you got who let you live.” Wiggles said. With that, he knocked out his captive, and released him outside.  
No one fucks with Wiggles.


	4. Getting Domestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Wilford takes a look at his life, he can't believe what he has.

When Wilford took a look at his life, he couldn’t believe it was his. He couldn’t believe that not every moment was consumed with violence and death threats.  
He definitely couldn’t believe where he was sitting. On a couch he could call his own, cradling his husband in his arms, having just dropped his daughters at a sleepover.  
“Did you ever think we’d get here, darling?” Wilford asked, slightly startling Wiggles.  
“Nah, I was pretty sure I was gonna be dead in a ditch by twenty-five.” Wiggles answered, unsurprisingly.  
“Thank goodness you’re not!” Wilford said, instincts making him draw Wiggles even closer. “I don’t know what I’d do without you!”  
“Probably have far fewer injuries.” Wiggles responded, deadpan.  
“Ah, the pain makes life a little more fun!” Wilford argued. “Every death-defying escapade is just another picture in an exciting album.”  
“You are literally the only person who would think that.”  
“Good thing you found me than, eh?” Wilford reasoned, kissing Wiggles’s mop of pink hair.  
“Yeah, I think it is.” Wiggles mumbled, snuggling closer. Wilford smiled, contentedly. Until Wiggles sat up, stock straight, panic in his eyes.  
“Do you think the girls are doin’ okay? Did we tell Sharon about Till’s citrus allergy? What if they serve orange chicken or some shit? What about Lizzie’s mistletoe trigger? I mean, it probably won’t come up since it’s July, but still, who knows what could happen! Could decide to watch a fuckin’ Hallmark movie and send my lil tortellini into a breakdown!”  
Wiggles often got like this when he was separated from their daughters. Always assuming the worst would happen at all times, that if he left them alone for _one minute_ , they would die. And while Wilford wasn’t exempt from these fears, Wiggles was twenty times worse than he could ever be.  
“They’ve been over to this house several times before, dear heart, they’ll be fine. They can surely survive one night without us. They’ll be back before dinner tomorrow.” Wilford assured, forcing himself to sit up as well. “You’ve adapted well to fatherhood, Wiggles. I just fear you’ve adapted too well.”  
“What if somebody hurts them on their way home? It’s within walking distance, but anything could happen at any moment!” Wiggles barreled on.  
“We kill them! Simple as that! If Liz and Till don’t beat us to it, that is. Everyone should know not to mess with a Warfstache, and if they’re too dumb to know that, they deserve whatever’s coming to them.” Wilford ended his sentence with a smile. That always seemed to help his case.  
Wiggles stared at Wilford for a long moment before his shoulders loosened.  
“You got a point.” Wiggles said. “I’m just worried about ‘em, that’s all.”  
“I know, love, I am, too. But they’ll be alright.” Wilford assured. “And if not, we can shoot whoever screwed it up.”  
Wiggles laughed. “You always know just what to say, Wilf.”  
“I’m good at it, baby.” Wilford replied.  
Slowly, Wiggles calmed down, settling back into his previous position. Wilford had no objections.

The windows were open all across the house, letting in the scents of summer. The breeze blew white curtains gently into the air. And in the kitchen was complete cacophony.  
Wilford walked in to find his family all huddled in their small kitchen. Wiggles was at the stove, flipping pancakes. Tilly was determinedly gathering toppings, too many for her arms to carry. Lizzie was stirring more batter. And they were all belting out old songs at the top of their lungs. None of them were exactly born for singing, but Wilford’s heart melted all the same.  
Wiggles poured another pancake onto the pan, still singing, but allowing the girls to lead. They didn’t have a full mastery of the words yet, which made it all the more adorable.  
Wiggles looked up at Wilford and smiled. “Heya, dollface! Just teachin’ the lil demons how to cook up a proper feast, isn’t that right?”  
The girls made a synchronized ‘mm-hmm’ sound, both very focused on their tasks. Tilly walked towards the small dining table and set down her toppings, one by one. It seemed she’d just raided the fridge and grabbed anything that could be put on pancakes. Including…guacamole? Wilford snatched that from the table and delivered it back to the fridge.  
Wiggles stepped away from the stove, giving Wilford a quick kiss. Quickly followed by an ear-piercing screech from Lizzie.  
“I know, kiddo, I know! Two seconds to lay a smoocharoo on my husband ain’t gonna burn the house down!” Wiggles said.  
“You never know, Pep-pep!” Lizzie argued. Wiggles looked her dead in the eyes.  
“You are too big for your britches.” He said, deadpan, making her start giggling. His face softened at the sound.  
Wilford picked her up off the counter, plopping her on the ground. “I rather think you’ve shown these pancakes who’s boss. How about you help your sister out, mm?”  
Lizzie rolled her eyes and smiled, fondly. She walked away to help Tilly in laying everything out.  
“I think an eleven-year-old just sassed me.” Wilford said.  
“Get used to it.” Wiggles commented, flipping a pancake. Wilford wrapped his arms around Wiggles’s stomach, resting his chin on Wiggles’s shoulder.  
Wiggles had yet to change into proper clothes, wearing a loose robe, a too-big shirt Wilford recognized as his own, and striped pants. He wasn’t even wearing his makeup. He looked adorable.  
Wiggles met Wilford’s eyes, and looked away, slight tint to his cheeks. “Whatcha lookin’ at me like that for?”  
“I like your face, isn’t that enough of a reason?” Wilford asked, incredulous.  
“You were lookin’ at me like that at our wedding, too.” Wiggles recalled. He plated a few completed pancakes before moving onto the next batch. “If you’re gonna hang out here, you could at least put this next batch in the freezer.”  
Wilford detached, still smiling. “As you wish.” He assented with a small flourish. He picked up the bowl of freshly made batter and plopped it in the freezer, turning back just in time to see Wiggles finish the last of breakfast.  
“Alright, munchkins! Breakfast is fuckin’ served!” Wiggles shouted, much to the girls’ delight.  
Wiggles lifted the plate and set it on the table.  
Immediately, not unlike a hungry pack of wolves, the pair dug in, outfitting their pancakes how they saw fit. Wiggles and Wilford sat down between them, Wilford with a fond smile on his face.  
If you were to ask Wilford how he got to this point, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. All he knew was that he was there, and there was nowhere he’d rather be.


	5. The Lizzie & Tilly Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wiggles's and Wilford's daughters are taking over their show for a single episode. Wiggles isn't the happiest about this arrangement.

“Good evening, ladies, gentleman, and all other configurations of being, my name is Lizzie Warfstache, and this is my co-host, Tilly. Say hi, Tilly!”  
“Hey, fuckers.”  
“Ha, ha! Oh Tilly, you scamp!”  
The audience watched on in confused amazement as two preteen girls sat in the normal positions of the regular hosts.  
One wore her long black hair in a braid tied with a pink bow, along with a yellow button up with pink suspenders and a matching skirt. She had pink painted nails and large hoop earrings. She was the one who introduced herself as Lizzie.  
The other, sitting in Wiggles’s normal position, had a small afro partially hidden in a bandana. She wore a dark pink suit jacket over a light pink shirt and dark jeans, tying the whole look together with a purple bow-tie and purple sneakers. She had been introduced as Tilly.  
Tilly leaned forward on her knees, sternly. Lizzie snapped her suspenders, flashing a winning grin to the audience.  
From backstage, Wilford and Wiggles monitored them, carefully, ready to run out in case anything happened.  
If Wiggles had to define what he was feeling, it was pride, amusement, and deep, logic-defying mortal terror.  
“What if the stage lights give and crush them?” Wiggles asked, hushed. Wilford put his hands on Wiggles’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  
“They’ll be fine, darling, you shouldn’t worry so much, it’s bad for your health.” Wilford said, gently.  
“I can’t help it! They’re out there, on their own!” Wiggles persisted.  
“Wiggles, my love, you’ve raised those girls. You know what they’re capable of. Can they do it?” Wilford questioned, forcing Wiggles to meet his eyes.  
“They can do fucking anything, they’re tiny geniuses.” Wiggles answered, easily, quickly realizing what he said. “But bad things could happen outside their control!”  
“And that’s why we’re back here! To look out for them. And you know what we’re capable of.” Wilford assured, wide grin on his face.

From the stage, Tilly could just see her parents hiding in the wings, and made an effort to ignore them. She’d get stage fright with them watching.  
Instead, she turned to the audience, and felt a rush in her blood. The thrill of performance. She could get addicted to it fairly easily. Maybe she’d take up theatre after the episode.  
“So, Tilly, what do we have on the docket today?” Lizzie asked, pulling Tilly out of her stupor. Lizzie wore a dazzling smile, and Tilly knew it was a real one. She was enjoying the experience just as much as her sister.  
“First up, got an interview with…some guy who did something. Think his name is…Sergei. I don’t fucking remember.” Tilly answered, mind completely blanking on who they were interviewing.  
“Sounds delightful!” Lizzie cheered. Tilly rolled her eyes, fondly. “After that, I believe we have product reviews. Designer knives are coming into fashion, but are they worth it? Find out today! Now, without further ado, let’s bring in our first interviewee of the day!”

Samuel, the interviewee, left in a huff. Too good to be interviewed by tweens, as he said. Lizzie was good at hiding it, but she was furious. The knife reviews were sure to cheer her up, however. Her father long ago taught her how to appreciate a good knife, a lesson she never forgot.  
Lizzie stood beside Tilly behind a table laden with knives of all shapes and sizes. Tilly was twirling around a holographic knife, curiously.  
Lizzie picked up one of the knives, after explaining what it was, a knife made out of pure gold. A test product they’d gotten for free. If they broke it, they wouldn’t get charged for it.  
“Now, as you can see, it’s very beautiful,” Lizzie said, holding it up for the audience to see. “It’s nicely balanced, as well, if a bit heavy. But will it pass our tests? Let’s find out.”  
Lizzie turned to face the large target behind her. A quick glance towards backstage showed her father, giving her a thumbs up and a huge grin, sides of his mustache matching. And her dad, looking ready to pass out.  
Lizzie placed herself carefully, throwing the knife towards the target. The knife lost momentum and fell before it even hit the target.  
“Well, I think that answers our questions.” Tilly said.  
“How disappointing. That would be a glamorous knife to impale your enemies with.” Lizzie lamented.  
“Agreed. I’m more partial to silver, but agreed.” Tilly replied. Lizzie turned to the audience.  
“Remember, beautiful audience. If he lays his hands on you, you have free reign to cut them off.” Lizzie ended her sentence with a saccharine smile.  
“A-fucking-men.” Tilly agreed. Lizzie picked up her next knife and gently clinked it to Tilly’s, as though saying cheers.

Tilly and Lizzie were sitting back on the couch, ready to conclude the show. And Wilford couldn’t deny a bit of smugness towards his husband.  
Nothing that bad had happened, they’d certainly had worse in their first season. In fact, this was a remarkably calm episode.  
“We should let them run the show.” Wilford murmured in Wiggles’s ears. Wiggles hadn’t uncrossed his arms, or even loosened his shoulders, since the show started. In a way, it was quite sweet. Four years ago, Wilford almost thought Wiggles was incapable of love. Now he was married, and looking ready to pass out from stress over his daughters.  
“Oh, no, no, no. My tiny heart couldn’t take that kind of stress.” Wiggles replied, making Wilford laugh.  
“I married a man that’s made up of anxiety.” Wilford cooed.  
“I could leave this show and make a career out of worrying and I’d make more money.” Wiggles retorted. Wilford wrapped his arms around Wiggles’s torso, twining their hands together, pressing a soft kiss to the exposed part of Wiggles’s neck.  
From the stage, he saw Lizzie and Tilly take a bow, grabbing each others’ backs. The audience cheered, louder than they ever had for the original hosts. Wilford’s heart swelled with pride as his daughters strode to join them backstage.  
Wilford let go of Wiggles to wrap Tilly and Lizzie in a big hug, picking them both up off the ground. It was a slight strain, but he was willing to make that sacrifice.  
“I am so proud of you both!” He exclaimed, setting them back down on the ground. “You did a magnificent job. Beat out your old man, I’d say.”  
Wiggles bent down to embrace the girls, their heads in his shoulders. “You two are gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack. But you did better than I ever could.” He mumbled.  
Wilford smiled down at his family, heart too full to even properly express. “Who’s hungry? We’re going to dinner tonight!”  
“Ooh, Chinese!” Tilly exclaimed, at the same time Lizzie said:  
“Ooh, French!”  
Wilford had to laugh at that, ruffling both their hair in one go. One glance to his husband showed a much more relaxed posture, relief heavy in his eyes.  
Maybe he’d wait until later to suggest another episode of the Lizzie and Tilly show.


End file.
